


Careless

by 1thousandminus7



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1thousandminus7/pseuds/1thousandminus7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite all the horrors of the Commonwealth, all the death and violence and pain, somehow it never occurred to Nate that something like this might happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Careless

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I'm evil and enjoy others' pain. Basically pure angsty death fantasy. With a little bit of gay thrown in for good measure.

It was just a raider nest. That was all. Easy enough, even if these raiders were clearly better equipped and more experienced than the common-or-garden raiders that often made half-hearted attempts to rob settlements. These guys had stationed themselves in a quarry, quite a deep pit in the blasted landscape with wooden structures precariously built over edges and between heaps of limestone. Nate and MacCready had skirted the edge, clearing out the topmost layer of the quarry, before stopping to take a breath in one of the shacks on the lip of the pit. Nate was unloading the junk he had collected thus far into a chest, lightening the load in preparation to go charging in. MacCready clearly didn't approve of his strategy, preferring to hit enemies from a distance. He'd pleaded with the vault dweller many times over to take a more stealthy approach, concerned with his safety, but Nate was most comfortable with a sword in his hand, in close combat with his enemies. They were just easier to hit that way. So as he went barrelling in, all his stuff stowed away save for healing supplies and ammo for the two guns he did keep upon his person, MacCready stationed himself up high. With his rifle in his hand, he covered Nate as best as he could, shooting raiders that threatened to take him by surprise, nailing one after the other right between the ears. It took his utmost concentration, every ounce of his unwavering focus, but very rarely did he miss. Nate had upgraded his rifle with a scope that not only magnified enemies until it was impossible not to hit them, but also tracked them, so even if they clocked that they were being shot at and tried to hide, he could still follow them with ease. It was almost too easy. Despite this, he still held his focus as he picked off enemies one by one. Of course, it was this level of concentration that meant he didn't hear the raider as she snuck up behind him.

Nate was sure MacCready was the safe one out of the two of them as he went barrelling down the slope to meet his enemies head-on, often taking on up to five of them at a time with his favourite sword; a warped, twisted thing that seemed to do twice the damage as any other sword he got his hands on. So when he heard his companion scream his name, he was taken utterly by surprise. His current opponent, a brawny man with a Mohawk and a tire iron he was currently trying his best to bash Nate's brains out with, finally got a hit on him as his focus slipped and he chanced a glance upwards at where his companion was stationed. He saw MacCready attempting to use his rifle as a shield as a raider with a viciously painted face bore down on him, before the tire iron slammed into his shoulder. He yelped at the sudden, brutal pain, and swung his sword in retaliation, beheading the man before him before turning on his heel and sprinting back up to help his companion. Rolling his shoulder to assess the injury, he decided it wasn't worth worrying about and prepared to stab the painted raider in the back. Fortunately, none of the others chose to follow him, though a few tried to shoot him, their bullets causing chips to fly from the limestone walls of the quarry. Skidding to a halt at the top of the slope, he readied his blade only to see his companion put a pistol to his opponent's head as she bore down on him, and blew her brains out. She slumped over him, and he caught Nate's eye over her shoulder, her blood sprayed across his face.

"Oh hey, good job, thought you might have actually needed my help for a second there." Nate grinned. MacCready didn't respond. He simply stared at him in... incredulity? "Uh... RJ?" He frowned slightly, the other's expression giving him pause. The merc gave the raider corpse a light push, and she slid off him to the floor. Nate sucked in a breath. The hilt of a knife was visible sticking out of the front of MacCready's shirt. Blood was already spreading from the blade at an alarming rate.

"Oh. Oh fuck..." Nate ran forwards. MacCready stumbled towards him, stepping over the raider's body and clutching Nate for support.

"Help me..." Nate heard the merc mutter.

"Yeah. Yeah of course." He led the wounded man away from the raiders, away from further harm. When he was satisfied that they were far enough to not be attacked, he let MacCready down, propping him up against a tree and kneeling beside him. MacCready stared down at the knife, putting a hand to the wound and seeming surprised when it came away bloody.

"Nate... I think this might be a three stimpak problem."

Nate nodded, digging through his bag until he found their limited healing supplies. Three stimpaks... It wasn't ideal, but it was necessary. He got ready to administer the first, when a thought occurred to him.

"Uh... RJ, I can't heal you with that thing still in you."

MacCready nodded, then went to pull it out. When his fingers brushed the hilt, however, he bit back a cry, yanking his hand away and panting. "A... Ah... Hurts. I... Can't."

Nate felt the panic in him rising. This was not looking good. He took a deep breath, endeavouring to stay calm.

"Okay. I'll do it." He moved, then paused again. "I... Come here." He held out his arms. MacCready moved to lean against his chest, burying his face in his shoulder. "I'd rather you bit me than your tongue, yeah? I can take it. And don't try and push me away. You can be as rough as you want as long as you don't stop me."

There was panic in the merc's eyes as he caught Nate's gaze and nodded. Nate had one arm around his friend, the other free to do the dirty work. When he touched the knife, MacCready's whole body jerked, and Nate heard his breath hitch. He did his best to ignore this, closing his fingers around the hilt and trying to block out the other's whimpers of pain.

"Alright. On three." Both men steeled themselves. "One. Two." He pulled. It wouldn't come out as easily as he expected, but he just increased the force until the weapon came free.

MacCready screamed.

He screamed in a way Nate wished he never had to hear, his fingers digging painfully into Nate's shoulder and his whole body taut as a bowstring. And he kept screaming, long and loud and anguished, until his voice broke and he subsided into sobs and gasping half-breaths. Nate just held him, the bloody knife clutched in one hand. As he studied the weapon over MacCready's shoulder, he noted with a twist in his stomach that the blade was wickedly serrated. So that's why it hadn't come out easily.

Eventually, he pried MacCready off him, resting him against the tree once more. There wasn't a moment to waste.

"Keep pressure on it, as well as you can." MacCready pressed a hand to the wound, his expression agonised. Nate pulled the collar of his shirt aside and stabbed the stimpak into the side of his neck. MacCready barely winced, as minute as the pain was in comparison to the gaping tear in his abdomen. Nate repeated this process twice more, then lifted the merc's hand away, examining the wound. He waited. Waited for the flesh to heal, for the skin to knit itself back together, leaving nothing but an angry scar. And kept waiting.

"...It's not working, is it?" MacCready's voice was weak. He swallowed another sob. "I'm... I'm dying."

Nate said nothing, not tearing his eyes from the wound.

"Nate... It hurts. It hurts so bad." He waited for the other to respond. He didn't. "Nate I'm scared."

Nate shook his head. "You won't die." In reality, he knew better. They were too far from any medics, and even if he got him to a medic he wasn't sure they could do anything a stimpak couldn't. Not in terms of physical injury. The knife had been securely lodged in the man's stomach. With it still in, he might have lasted half an hour. Now that Nate had pulled it out, probably doing just as much damage again as it had done going in, he had maybe ten, fifteen minutes at most. It was a race between blood loss and blood poisoning that would kill him now, and every minute of it would be agony. MacCready seemed to know this. His breath came in shallow gasps, the only thing punctuating the silence stretching between them.

"If... If Duncan ever comes to the Commonwealth, look after him." His voice was barely loud enough to hear.

"RJ, don't. Don't talk like that."

"I know a lost cause when I see one." He attempted a smile, only for it to become a grimace of pain. There was another silence, then Nate felt something cold on his hand. He looked down. MacCready was pressing his pistol into his hand. "I don't... I don't want to be in pain any longer than I have to be." Nate looked up. The merc looked terrified, but there was also a note of resignation in his eyes. Nate felt... He wasn't sure what he felt. Empty. Desperate.

"Besides... If I'm gonna die, I want it to be by your hand, not some filthy raider's." He pressed just a little harder, as hard as his sapping strength would let him. Nate's fingers twitched, then closed around the pistol's grip. It was slick with blood.

"Nate..." MacCready's hand rested over his. "One more thing."

"Anything." Nate breathed.

"I..." He gasped again, wincing. Nate started, putting a hand against his chest, but the merc simply gritted his teeth and continued. "I was gonna tell you, I promise. Eventually." Nate frowned. "I... Oh, fuck it, I'm dying, I've got nothing to lose. I'm in love with you, Nate. Ever since you got the cure for my son, I... Yeah." He tailed off weakly. Nate was silent. MacCready sighed. "...It's okay. I just had to get it off my chest." He laughed, the sound trailing off into pained whimpers. "Don't have to worry about me anymore anyway."

Nate shook his head. Instead of responding, he leaned in. Somewhere in the back of his head, it registered that the other man's breath smelled sweet, despite the state of his teeth. Like the gum drops he loved so much. Then they were kissing. Nate put everything he had into the kiss. He had to make it worth it. MacCready's response was weak, but soft in a way that suggested real love. It wasn't like kissing Nora; there was too much facial hair and his lips were too chapped, but it was... Comforting. And oh, so bittersweet, because he was about to lose this too.

When he pulled away, MacCready smiled. Not a pained grimace like last time, but a genuine smile, despite the pain that burned in his veins like fire.

"Never thought I'd get to do that..." He sighed. "I guess... I guess I can die happy now..."

Nate shifted, moving himself so he sat on MacCready's lap, facing him, resting his forehead on his partner's. With one hand, he lifted MacCready's hand to the side of his face, ignoring the blood. He felt his thumb brushing his cheek, and knew he'd done the right thing. With the other... The gun rested on his thigh, the barely audible click meeting his ear as he cocked it.

"I'll never forget you, RJ." He murmured. "I love you."

MacCready's eyes met his, and despite the pain, despite the fear, he seemed happy.

"I love you too, Nate."

Nate kissed him once more, with as much love as he could convey. Confident that MacCready was distracted, he raised the gun to his companion's head. The other man shivered slightly when he felt the muzzle brush his temple, but he didn't break the kiss. His final act was to run his fingers through his love's hair, sighing one final time.

MacCready's body twitched as the bullet tore through him. Nate felt his last breath on his lips, and felt tears in his eyes as he let the other man's hand fall from his cheek, leaving bloody smears in its wake.

 

He wanted to give his beloved companion a proper burial, he decided, though he couldn't carry his body all the way back to the Red Rocket he now called home. So instead. He recovered a spade from the pile of loot he'd left behind, and began to dig. He didn't stop, even when his hands blistered painfully and his limbs shook from exhaustion. He barely felt it over the overwhelming numbness in his chest, and the ghost of pressure on his lips. And when the grave was deep enough, he found a sheet of only lightly warped steel, which he tore from the side of a raider hovel, and scratched onto it with the knife that killed him the words

_Robert J MacCready_

_A better man than any of you will ever be._

 

It was a pathetic grave, but it was a better send off than the vast majority of those who died in the Commonwealth.

Before he buried him, he stripped him of his jacket, hat and rifle. Then he finished his work.

He didn't finish clearing the quarry that day. Instead he pulled the jacket on over his armour, slung the rifle over his back and pulled on the hat, leaving his own helmet behind, hanging off the corner of the mock gravestone. He knew it would be stolen, probably within minutes of his leaving, but he didn't care. He was done caring.

 

His oldest friend in the Commonwealth, and the only other inhabitant of Red Rocket, Nick Valentine, was waiting for him, or rather them, to return. The synth's eyes widened as he took in Nate's appearance. MacCready's blood still stained his face, and the front of his jacket. He couldn't bring himself to wash it off. Not yet. The detective didn't have to ask what happened. He could read it all on his friend's face, and in his attire. He didn't say a word as Nate all but collapsed against him. All he did was hold him as he cried.

 


End file.
